Candyland
by NightmarePrince
Summary: A series of drabbles and one-shots written for the Candyland Challenge on the Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges Forum. Each chapter is a ridiculous pairing randomly given by a prompt. Crack!Fics, Parodies, Drabbles. Please have fun reading these. No PWP. Rated M just to be on the safe side because of innuendo and swearing. Listed as complete because each one-shot is stand-alone.


**Crabbe Rolls and Weasel Buns**

_**-CoWritten for the CandyLand Challenge by NightmarePrince and ArtoHolic-**_

_**Scene One by Nightmare, Scene Two by Arty**_

_**(*)(*)(*)**_

Ronald Weasley woke at midnight in a cold sweat, the very air of his dormitory thick with the snores of his dorm-mates and the stench of their nightly farts. He recalled vividly that Hermione would screw up her nose whenever she entered the boys' dormitories, disgusted by the odour of pubescent boy. He would never understand it, but then again he was sure that he would think the same if his nostrils ever filled with the flowery perfumes that lingered in her dormitory.

It was, he reasoned, a matter of growing used to the various smells and habits of their respective genders and of course, having grown up with five brothers, he was intricately familiar with them all.

His heart beat rhythmically fast as he got out of bed, moving quietly so as to not wake his slumbering friends. Of course, there was little chance of this occurring. Harry and Neville both slept as though dead, Dean abused sleeping potions and like as not, Seamus was even now worn out and asleep with Lavender strewn across his Irish limbs.

It wasn't difficult for him to knick the Invisibility Cloak from his best mate's trunk, nor was it hard to extricate the Marauders Map from beneath Harry's pillow. The map brought on, as it usually did, a slew of questions concerning his elder twin brothers.

Why had they never noticed that for the first three years of his Hogwarts life, he had gone to bed beside a man named Peter Pettigrew? He had thought it had been Scabbers of course, and loathe as he was to admit it, he missed his rat. Pigwidgeon just didn't have the same ability with which to cuddle up to at night.

His final item, a flask of potion, was soon shoved into his pyjama bottoms and he headed out, seeking an abandoned bathroom where he wouldn't be disturbed. It wasn't that hard to find it, though he was a tad bit curious that the map showed Hermione and Malfoy together atop the Astronomy Tower, he put it down as a question for another day. He had much more important business to take care of right now and knowing Hermione, fifteen and fiery, she would no doubt be able to handle the ferret.

Hopefully, she would find a way to throw him off the tower and make it look like an accident.

"Domestos and Harpic," he whispered as he came to the doorway of the Prefects bathroom, grinning to himself as the door slid open at the sound of the password. He sighed, a breathy half-moan, when he realised that the bathroom was deserted as the corridors outside. Nevertheless, he cast a few locking charms on the door for the sense of privacy and security.

He stripped down to his boxers quickly, garish orange against his pasty, freckled skin and brought the vial of potion to his lips as he stood before the full length mirrors, excitement brimming in his veins. He had had the potion since his second year, when he had knicked the cauldron from Moaning Myrtle's bathroom and trickled in the last remaining hair of the man who enraptured him. Steeling himself for the vile taste that was soon to come, he chugged a mouthful of the muddy liquid and grunted as his body began to change.

The taste of stale seafood and toe-jam clouded his tongue as his lanky frame shifted, copious rolls of fat beginning to blossom from his waist and arms and chest. His thighs grew thick, stretching the boxers to the point of almost tearing as his face grew twisted and stupid.

But ugly as it may seem to all others, Ronald could not help the breath of delight that escaped his lips as he reached up to cup the pillowy breast of Vincent Crabbe, so much bigger than Hermione's or any other women's in the school. Crabbe was beautiful, a man who ate as much as he did, such a rare trait for anyone, and it showed in the rolls and love-handles that brimmed across him.

He feels the blood rush to the south of his body, his head growing thick with delusions of grandeur as he pictured his own slender fingers trailing across Crabbe and his rolls, groaning as he let his hands fall upon his sagging arse cheeks.

"Oh Crabbe," he muttered, a pained look crossing his face as the Polyjuice began to wear away. He couldn't drink much of it, just a little every week to maintain this glamorous shape of twisted toenails and rotund satisfaction . . . a mouthful would give him five minutes. And was not five minutes a week better than just a few hours for an entire lifetime.

Lanky and returned to normal, Ronald Weasley put on his clothing and made the dreadful trek back to his dormitory, unsated in his desires for Vincent Crabbe and his rolls of lard.

_**(*)(*)(*)**_

He hated the fact that Hogwarts was so bloody huge. It made him tired just having to get from one class to the next. And what with all the classrooms being all over the place, he couldn't even sneak a snack in between because he was too busy juggling his wait and coaxing his feet to move faster.

And it was one such time, that he had happened to see the Weasel.

He had just been to the kitchens to bully the House Elves into giving him midnight snacks and was on his way back, when he had heard the sound. He had initially thought it was some animal dying, because of the low way it was moaning, so he had ignored it and waddled on, but something about that voice just sounded so familiar…

He had barely gone a few steps further when he heard the moan again and this time it was much louder than before and sounded like… like…who did it sound like?! Far too curious for his own good, he carefully crept back toward the empty classroom, his loot jiggling in his pockets and his eyes accustomed enough to the dark to see the big burly figure sitting on the teacher's table and—

He backed away hurriedly and closed his eyes shut. He was much too innocent to see such vulgar things like boys touching themselves. He had never tried it himself; there was far too much of him to handle at once; but he had always been curious, and the boy seemed to be as bigly built as him…

He peeked through the crack in the door and held his breath when it slowly eased open because his tummy had bumped it by accident. He slowly walked in, taking advantage of the fact that the boy's eyes were closed and that he was facing the other way.

The closer he got, though, the clearer his view was, and he was mildly confused why the bloke still had his pants on and was only pinching the fat around his waist and moaning. He pinched his own love handles and wondered what about it felt good…

He was barely a few metres away from the other fellow, when the moon chose that exact moment to poke its head out from behind the clouds and throw light on the face of the boy, who turned out to be—

He gaped in shock, touching his own face and body and then pointing at the fellow before him and then at himself. He would have shouted, but he couldn't feel his tongue and as he watched, the form that was undeniably his, slowly began to shrink.

The dark hair began to become bright and spiky, the fat seemed to just melt into nothingness and the freckles seemed to burst out across his skin. He gasped. He knew this boy!

"You! You're the Weasel!"

Ron Weasley's eyes shot open and he paled considerably as he came out of his daze and seemed to realize that someone had seen him. And not just _any _someone either, it was the very fellow who he had dared Polly-juice himself into! What gall!

"C-Crabbe," he blustered, but Vincent wasn't ready to listen to anything the Weasel had to say.

"You—You were _me! _And then you became you! And you were—were—were _fondling _me!"

The Weasel's eyes widened in horror and Vincent wasn't even in the mood to feel gleeful about it.

"Look, I can explain," he started, but Vincent pulled his elbow back, meaning to punch the crazy git in his face, but that was already too much excitement right after having scarfed down a whole basketful of pastries and pies, so he burped loudly and let the familiar feeling of dizziness overcome him as he fell over and landed with a heavy thud.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

When he opened his eyes, he lay staring at the ceiling in confusion an wondered where he was and why he wasn't in his warm, comfortable bed.

_Ah, that's right, I had been to the kitchens to get my midnight snack, and then I was on my way back, when…_

He felt something heavy settle on top of him and then—to his extreme horror—_started to rub itself on him. _He wailed and writhed, trying to grab whatever it was and shove it off, but that _whatever it was _was being very bloody obstinate and refused to get shoved ground his teeth together and rolled to the side, squashing what apparently turned out to be the Weasel, under him.

His eyes widened as the Weasel's face turned red like he was going to explode and he made to move off him, but the fellow only grabbed him by his _buttocks _and made a gurgling sort of sound, his eyes rolling back in his head. Fearing that he may have died and that fear being the sole reason he didn't register the hands clutching his but-cheeks, he rolled off of him and sat back, watching with horror as a wet patch began to form on the Weasel's pants from where he peed.

_Did he piss himself, the wuss, _Vincent thought, bout couldn't help but feel frightened that he may have just crushed him to death.

Hate him or not, he didn't want to be expelled! Where would he get all his midnight snacks from, then?! His parents refused to let him have what he wanted because apparently he was supposed to be on a strict _diet, _but—

His thoughts were interrupted by the Weasel moaning and then pulling himself up, a thoroughly—and Vincent was extremely confused now—blissful look on his face. As though in a daze, the Weasel mumbled Vincent's name and threw himself at the latter.

A Hufflepuff Prefect was the one to come find the two boys lying on the floor of the classroom much later, one looking like he had seen a ghost and the other looking like Christmas had come early.


End file.
